A cold, chilly draft filled the stone room. The only light came from the yellow candle's flickering flame in the upper left hand corner of the table. Within the light revealed two figures, one smaller than the other. The smaller one was clearly a boy upon closer inspection, and he was writing on something with a dark black raven quill, a bottle of crimson ink at his side. The larger one had a piece of chalk and was writing queer symbols on the wall.

The ink dripped from his quill, staining the parchment in front of him. It bled from the tip of his quill ever so slowly as the boy watched the man's hand dart across the board. It was obvious that though he was eager to learn, he would quickly get bored. The stain slowly expanded in size, drip by drip, until the man rapped the boy's knuckles, telling him to focus on his parchment and make sure that he did not stain his ebony robes. The boy nodded, understanding. Delicately, the tip of the quill grazed the parchment before the boy as he began to write. The parchment dragged the quill back a bit, causing a few wrinkles that vanished shortly after the words were completed, however that was on par with the parchment. It was soft and supple, some of the best that money could buy.

The boy only ever had the best, from his quill to the robes he wore. A pauper could eat for a year from the gold weened by selling his robes and quill. The surface beneath the parchment stirred a little as the boy pressed too deeply into it. He frowned at his carelessness, pressing too deep would ruin the parchment and tear a hole in it. He had to remind himself of what the man had taught him. The man had provided him with many things, from playmates to the very parchment he was writing on now. He liked this parchment. It was nice.

The boy stopped for a moment and smiled. He covered his ink well and laid his quill over it. He waited for the ink to dry and become rust colored before running his hands over the parchment, it was a guilty pleasure of his, and so long as it wasn't hurting anybody, the man allowed him to have it. He loved the smoothness that would turn into small round bumps as he ran his hand across it gently. He shivered with delight as he felt the many layers beneath the current one squirm beneath his fingers. He smiled, looking at it once more. The symbols from his master's chalkboard were copied to the parchment and he began the hard work of cutting it away.

He picked up the silver knife on his left, turning once more to the lovely parchment. It really was beautiful. It was almost a shame to waste it. He gently pressed the blade into the parchment and it sank down, causing the ink beneath it to burst forth like the breaking of a dam. He quickly pushed the parchment up and refilled his ink bottle before laying it back down. His hands were turning red as he picked his knife up again and continued cutting down to the white hardness that signaled the last layer of parchment. The parchment let out a soft groan, unheard by the boy who was intently staring at his work. The man heard it and pursed his lips. This did not bode well for the boy. He didn't use enough drugs on the parchment.

The boy turned his knife gently and finished cutting it away. The crimson ink stained his hands even more as the boy lifted his page away, and suddenly the parchment awoke and began thrashing about having broken free from its loose bonding, its screaming pierced the near-freezing air. The boy froze, his knife poised to cut its throat. The man shook his head at his apprentice's laziness and the boy quickly secured the bond with the man and then dazed the parchment again.

He looked to his master, his eyes asking if he could get more of the parchment. It seemed to him like such a waste to let it wither away and vanish. The man briefly thought for a moment then nodded, giving the boy permission. He smiled and with glee, he began to skin and cut away the rest of the parchment. It moved no longer. The master gently picked up the remains and carried it to the furnace. He started a fire to warm the two, and tossed the remains inside it. Nothing remained of the parchment's origins but ash and bone...